


Don't stay for me

by TheonlyDan



Category: Nightwish, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Eventual Relationships, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, How Do I Tag, Infidelity, Piano Sex, Reader-Insert, Smut, Tarja radiated big-dick-energy in this, ambiguous concept, ambiguous timeline, backstage quickie, because she was definitely a top, over 4000 words of smut and I tried, romantic love-making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25894834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheonlyDan/pseuds/TheonlyDan
Summary: With a stare, you instantly knew whether Tarja needed a cup of tea, a change of outfit, a makeup remover, or an orgasm.A smutty fic to celebrate Tarja's birthday.
Relationships: Tarja Turunen/Original Female Character, Tarja Turunen/you
Comments: 9
Kudos: 8





	Don't stay for me

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters. This is just a work of fiction. All faults were mine and mine only.

You listened to Tarja from start to finish—backstage, alone and invisible, just like you had always been to the rest of her entourage. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter as long as you were exclusive to her.

With Tarja on tour, you were the anonymous “helper girl”. In Tarja’s household, you were the sitter. To Tarja, you were a “special friend”, whom she would rather not let the others know.

The others knew nothing about Tarja. You swore you were the only one around her whom she could communicate without words. You could always tell when a smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. With a stare, you instantly knew whether Tarja needed a cup of tea, a change of outfit, a makeup remover, or an orgasm.

The arrangement/entanglement started when she first interviewed you. In her house.

***

“Your resume looked really amazing.”

Tarja’s comment sounded more like a question. You smiled but didn’t look away, as you combed your hair away from your face. Looking at you under her glasses, Tarja’s green eyes traced your movement. In your highest heels, the only pair of designer jeans you own and a blouse you bought from H&M, you wished your makeup was flawless. 

“I want to see the world.” You shrugged, trying not to be grossly modest, “And I think that, working for a superstar like you would make that happen…”

You trailed off, lost in her eyes. Tarja cocked her head, and her motion made you blink yourself awake. Maybe it was the sunlight reflecting from her hair that got into your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mrs.…”

“Just call me Tarja.”

She waved you off, bemused with your rogue reactions.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just…” You raked your hair to another side, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks, “Just a little bit stars-truck. I mean, you look way more beautiful in person.”

“Thank you, I’m flattered.”

She answered flatly. Her gaze bored into yours before she looked away. You could tell something else was brewing on her mind. When she refocused her attention on you, you shivered.

“You are barely 25. With your qualifications, you are fit to be a full-time sitter, a masseuse, a makeup artist, a trainer, and a journalist. Hell, and even a back-up singer.”

She inquired again as she re-crossed her legs. You caught flashes of alabaster skin. She knew you noticed, “And yet you are willing to, what, _settle_ for me?”

“It will not just be settling.” You repeated her words, feeling a bit foolish when you had to repress the urge to antagonize. You squirmed under her knowing stare, “I decide for my own future. Right now, I think staying around you sounds…”

You hardened your gaze, wetting your lips to see if you could draw Tarja’s attention there. It did, but Tarja revealed nothing.

_“Tempting.”_

Deadpanning, you were not sure whether you had overstepped her boundaries, even if she had allowed—close to encourage, actually—all of this to happen.

“Very well.” She stood up brusquely. You followed suit. “I’ll send you a copy of the contract after I consulted with my lawyer.”

“Thank you for this opportunity.”

You said sincerely. Tarja only sent you an indecipherable look.

“Don’t stay for me.”

You didn’t know what she meant at that time.

***

You were always a quick-learner. But who wouldn’t be if they put their hearts in it? Babysitting Naomi wasn’t hard. She wasn’t even the nasty kind of kid in your standard. Most important of all, Naomi was the only one that could make Tarja smile for real, so you figured out the little girl’s preferences to make things in Tarja’s life go smoother. It did. Your existence went from unnecessary to replaceable to neutral. Naomi liked you, and Tarja extended your workdays; it was an indication that you were maybe worthy of her trust.

To prove yourself trustworthy, you needed to take risks. The opportunity presented itself when Naomi begged you to let her play mommy’s big piano.

Tarja’s grand piano was in her recording room. It was where Tarja made musical magic happen, and it was sometimes off-limits to her daughter and always for outsiders, like you. But she was not recording, nor was she home, and you thought _what the hell_ then took Naomi there. You could see Tarja’s pool from this room. Numerous certifications of Tarja’s musical glory were hung all over the wall. Not overly enthusiastic, you joined Naomi on the piano bench, and (pretty soon) after she got bored, you played snippets of songs on her request. Your best guess was, Tarja had tried to teach her daughter piano but came off too strict. _Kids all want to play music, not learn music._

Tarja always struck you as a strict musician.

“I don’t know you can play.”

Your employer suddenly said from behind. _Shit_. Naomi jumped off the stool and scurried into her mom’s warm arms. The content of their dialogue was lost to your ears. Judging by Tarja's tone and Naomi’s obedient nods, it was a mild scolding session. You took good use of time to organize your crime scene. With the piano lid closed and the stool tugged in, now it looked like no one had ever laid a hand on Tarja’s belongings.

“She told me that _you_ are the one proposing to come here in the first place.” Tarja unhurriedly ushered Naomi off to the living room’s direction, “But I’m not very interested in your side of the story.”

You scanned Tarja’s face. There was a lazy trace of anger there, but also anticipation.

“It’s my fault.” You ventured after clearing your throat, “I’m sorry.”

You lowered your gaze to the ground, heart hammering. Tarja closed the door behind her. You distantly remembered the room was soundproof.

“You have nothing to say for yourself?”

She sounded rather disappointed as she approached you. Every click of her heels was distinctive, deliberate, and provocative. Tarja stopped at a civil distance from you. You could pick up her perfume. It was the floral one she would wear for big occasions. She was in a pantsuit today, its clean-cut style formal but not dull. Frustration was emanating from her movements. Gathering all the signs, you concluded it must be a hard day at work.

“I will do anything to keep my job. And your trust.”

You stared right into her eyes; they were in shades of cyan and turquoise, matching the red Tarja wore for her full lips and sharp cheekbones. She looked fabulous and remote. Tired.

“Is that true?”

“Yes.”

She raised a brow, and crossed her hands in front of her chest. _She looks unconvinced._

So you took more risks. Not looking away, you gathered your hair and tied them up into a ponytail, messy but efficient. It gave Tarja more time to consider. Her eyes raked all over you, weighing the cost and gain if something should happen. Tarja was shrewd and selfish enough to know how to take advantage. You were counting on that.

“Take out the chair.”

You exhaled, turning your back on Tarja as you dragged the bench from under the piano. You were careful. You were cautious enough for every sin you cursed yourself with.

Tarja paced over the room, and took her tailored blazer off. Her raven hair shimmered in her motions. Deftly, she folded the clothing in a neat square and placed it on the edge of the stool, while she sat down on the other side. You stood, facing Tarja as you await the next instruction. Her black silk blouse was see-through, and it flattered her figure.

“Take my heels off.”

One foot after the other, you kneeled on the hard, gray floor, the coldness seeping through the denim into your bones. The scowl on Tarja’s face eased into a quiet, excited look when your fingers found the straps of her black stiletto. With utmost care, you held her delicate heel and ankle, first freeing her left foot, then her right out of the uncomfortable restraints. Blue angry veins were protruding the surface of her feet. Certain points of Tarja’s feet were white, then reddening, having to sustain the body’s weight. It seemed Tarja recently had her pedicure. You laid her feet down to the ground, and rubbed your hands together. You looked at Tarja inquisitively.

Your palms were starting to smart when finally, she gave you a faint nod. You hoped your hands would be warm enough by now. You gently reached for her right foot—her feet were cold—and started to massage the center from the back of it. Tarja sighs audibly, slumping her body back so she could lean on the lid of the piano. She closed her eyes, the lines on her face softening, molding her expression more accessible.

“Is this ok?”

You husked, not relenting your movements. She peeked at you.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

You shut your mouth, then changed to her other foot. Tarja closed her eyes and lost herself again in the foot-rub. Her face slackened, and sometime after your hands started to get sore, your motions became more sensual than functional, preserving your strength if Tarja had other ideas.

“Take your clothes off.”

She ordered. You paused, placing her foot on the ground, and knew better than to ask if you heard her right. Tarja was now comfortable, and she wanted her other aches to be satisfied.

You noticed a flush was already on your chest when you took off your shirt . Your boots and your jeans were next. In your bra and panties, a wave of goosebumps rose and fell on you when Tarja’s gaze didn’t waver, meaning she wanted you to get fully naked.

You obliged. In her laidback sitting position, she beckoned you over, eyes hungry.

“Were you expecting this?”

She chuckled, expecting her attitude would be humiliating when she brushed over your nipple, trailing down your stomach, then to your wetness. You gasped, not expecting her to act so quickly while you tried hard to stay still.

“My, my. You sure were.” Tarja drew her fingers out, shiny with your arousal, “Take my pants off, and make yourself come on my lap.”

She stood up, knowing you were more than capable of processing that piece of information. You were buzzing with arousal, but your hands didn’t shake when you undid her suit pants. They fell into a pool of fabric, then Tarja stepped out of them elegantly. Aware of your height differences, you quickly bent forward and collected her pants, folding them and piling it on top of Tarja’s blazer. If she was impressed at your thoughtfulness she had concealed it well. Tarja reclaimed her prior spot, all regal and inviting.

Her black panties were clearly expensive. Because of the intricate lace, you couldn’t tell if she was aroused or not. But you sure were when you experimentally seated yourself onto Tarja’s left—your right—lap. You bit your lip with bliss, soaking wet.

“Come on now. Work for it.”

She purred, amused. Not daring to touch her, you grabbed the icy edge of the stool and ground forward. You were too sheepish to meet her gaze, because you were absolutely drenching her thigh. With each thrust as you pivoted forward, the wet, obscene “ _slosh”_ made you foggier with lust; it echoed in the room with your moan and the evident scent of arousal. No one knew what was happening except for Tarja and you. That thought made you go wild, stimulating another shock from your abdomen. You threw your head back and whimpered. Maybe you were losing the last bit of control.

Tarja put a hand on your throat, firm enough to restrain but not yet to choke. That only spurred you on. Your rhythm turned erratic, more desperate than ever for friction.

“Look at me.”

Tarja demanded. Hot with need, you opened your eyes and met her gaze. She seemed fascinated at your shamelessness. You trembled when she put her index and middle finger on your left nipple, and clamped with increasing pressure, like she was testing the outcome of her action. You didn’t disappoint. You bit your lip and let out a muffled scream when you thought you couldn’t take more.

She quickly unfastened your sensitive flesh, and slaps.

The sound was crispy and impatient. You jolted when the pain came after the numbness. Tarja looked as if she just found her favorite toy; she gave you more smacks on your breasts, harsher than before. You moaned, jolting forward and nearly losing your grip on the stool. The knots in your abdomen wound tight; they were going to cramp and crumble any second now.

Noticing your imbalance, Tarja got ahold of your laps. Her nails sank into your flesh. The pain was how you were going undone. Your stomach dropped low when the muscle there spasmed, creating a current of red-hot ecstasy coursing through your entire body. You hollered and wailed, your pussy pulsing and squirming over the milky surface of Tarja’s thigh.

“Be a good girl and clean that up.”

Still dizzy with pleasure and short of breath, you stumbled off of Tarja. She was watching you intently. In your after-sex haze, she looked liquefied and soft, the opposite of everything she was to you. You had been submissive and quiet, always disciplined in her presence; you played your roles well. Tarja had played hers, too, when everyone around her expected her to be her best. No one was being whom she wanted them to be. Maybe you could be that person.

You dropped to your knees again, being at eye-level with your mess. You had coated Tarja’s lap with a shiny layer of arousal. You lapped them up thoroughly like a cat licking its milk. You could feel your residual wetness drying on your inner thighs.

“After you’re done with that,” Tarja’s voice dipped low, and you thought it was a good sign, “Make me come. No hands.”

“Yes, mistress.”

Tarja’s lifted her brows at the title you gave her. Her eyes darkened, and at first you thought you had made her angry. You didn’t break your eye contact. You found a hint of smugness and surprise on her face. Well, everything was a surprise, really. After all, it was the very first time you were doing this. She wouldn’t possibly know how sexual you were, and it was a two-way street.

You pressed a swift kiss on her lap, indicating that you were about to move on to your next task. She didn’t protest upon that gesture. She only gave you a slap when your hands flew to her underwear.

“I said, no hands. Understood?”

Cheek stinging, you dropped your head to show you were sorry.

“Yes. Please forgive me, mistress. May I continue?”

“You may. Did that hurt?”

You were just in time to hide your shock before you looked into Tarja’s eyes.

“Yes. But I can take more.”

“Sure you do.”

She seemed impressed. Her hand found the side of your face she struck, and she caressed the reddening skin with the back of her hand. You held your breath in case another blow followed. But her hands only climbed to the back of your head, grabbed a fistful of your ponytail, and guided you—gentler than anticipated—toward her mound. Crawling a few inches forward, you used your teeth and lips to work the lacey hem below Tarja’s bellybutton. She was enjoying your struggles. But whether she knew you had done this before, you already had the piece of fabric in between your teeth. She lifted her hips so you could drag her panties down her thighs. In this angle, your neck had begun to stiffen up. Luckily, you had the sight of her glistening pussy for comfort. She was so wet because of you.

Tarja kicked her underwear away instead of telling you to retrieve it. It showed you how much she wanted it right _now. S_ he used your ponytail and shoved your face straight between her thighs, a sexy and dangerous power-move. With no time, you started from her entrance and tongued her all the way up to her clit. Her grip tightened, pulling the roots of your hair, using you as her private sex-object. Her body arched in a beautiful angle, her left hand finding the lid of the piano for support. Her knuckles were turning white at the grasp.

 _She is either holding back or she is always this quiet_ , you thought while giving one of the best oral jobs of a lifetime, alternating between suckles and slurps and wide circles. But you had to admit, the painful expression on Tarja’s face was very, very delicious. Her jaw was snapped tight, containing any possible sounds from erupting. A juicy frown and occasional silent screams were telling you, that she was not far from her release. You had two options: violent acceleration to make her scream, or postponing the pleasure to see what could happen. _Will she beg for it?_ You doubted it. Maybe it would be too soon and too much for this stage.

_A quickie it is._

You smirked to yourself, satisfied at your boldness when you decided to break the rules. Your left hand pulled to reveal Tarja’s hood, now pink and puffy just for you to wrap your lips on it. She let out a loud moan, but couldn’t stop you when you slid a finger in her pussy. _God, she was ripe and ready._ Tarja was warmed up and lubricated, thanked to your probing tongue, and her pussy was more than slippery for you to put two fingers in.

“Y/N…”

Tarja choked. You didn’t let her finish. You curled your fingers each time you plunged into her heat, producing one loud _squish_ after another, every time more tantalizing than before. She gasped, toes curling when her whole body turned rigid in throes of rapture. She was dripping onto your chin and fingers, some onto the stool and down her milky thigh. Maybe you would have the chance to put some marks on her pale skin; You could be looking forward to it, but for now you couldn’t wait to see her come. You marveled at the visage of Tarja, feeling ridiculously devoted to this strong woman. She was capable of being vulnerable and containing so many sides. You never knew you were privileged enough to see her like this.

You knew she would come on her own even if you keep it steady, but you still redoubled your efforts. Tarja screamed. Her legs kicked off the ground and secured you at where she wanted you to be, by pressing down on your back, while she rocked herself onto your face and hand. She had already loosened your hair for more support. Her elbows were propped onto the piano, but she could still fall. The stool was now too wet to produce enough friction. You huffed and used your shoulder to stop her from slipping. Your left hand locked her waist, pinning her hot body down. Through the silk of her shirt, her abdomen muscles were incredibly soft and taut.

She was too far gone, and you were not sure what had tipped her over. She snapped ferociously, shuddering and howling and you could feel the vibrations, waves after waves, binding you together even you were worlds apart before all of this. Her muscles convulsed around your digits, sucking you in and forcing you to remain. She was super sexy this way, mewling and squirming and shaking. Her hair was slightly tousled, and there were drops of sweat rolling down her chest. You were transfixed by it as you eased your fingers out of her entrance. You replaced it with soft strokes of the tongue on her sensitive area. She tasted heady like passion, although what she had shown was the cold, hard surface. Tarja remained motionless so you didn’t stop. Cleaning up the other mess you created out of Tarja, you monitored her expression closely. Would things be different after this? You didn’t know, and you were not too eager to find out. Things always reveal themselves at their own speed.

“God, what are we doing?”

Tarja stirred drunkenly, and used a hand to cover her face. You stopped immediately and backed away, a small grin climbing on your face.

“I don’t know, but I like it a lot.”

She was still struggling to pull herself together. You were also tired, and unfortunately aroused again by Tarja. But you didn’t show. _Another time, maybe._

“Where the hell do you come from, girl?” Tarja shook her head. She got up from the stool and walked off to another direction, giving you and herself some privacy. You were already in your underwear and halfway done with your bra, “I mean, of course I’ve done a background check. But your file still says very little about you.”

After sex, the endorphin usually makes people kinder and less guarded. But that didn’t mean it made them essentially nicer. You were still a stranger to Tarja, and you knew she’d like to prefer it that way.

“Secrets always make us more appealing.” You shrugged and gave Tarja a crooked smile, now reaching for your jeans, “I thought it’s also why we are doing this.”

“It is.”

She said matter-of-factly, regaining the control she had given to you. But it sounded more like she was convincing herself. She was now decent, and you were one boot away.

“Seriously, Tarja, I’m really sorry for taking Naomi here—”

“If she asked again, just bring her.” Tarja interrupted, her heels dangling in her hand, “But use the keyboard. This one needs tuning anyway.”

You grinned. Tarja’s neutral mask wavered when her gaze swept over your expression.

She walked you out after you grabbed your stuff and received your paycheck. You also got some unenthusiastic questions about your piano skills. You answered in jest but not without honesty. Tarja only hummed at your response.

As you ascended your bike and revved up the engine, you could tell Tarja was still standing by the door.

She watched as you rode away. You wondered what was on her mind, and she you.

***

Two months after working for Tarja, you joined her on tour. It was a hard-earned validation on your part, and it certainly weighed more than some good fucks. You found your ways around her household. Marcelo, Tarja’s husband, knew about you but she didn’t let him to get to know you. You caught the message well. Marcelo and Tarja were like friends, you observed. Maybe you could get to know more of the married couple’s dynamic.

Once Tarja invited you to stay the night, you almost said yes. You knew the question was more of a test. You so knew some part of Tarja truly wanted you to stay, so maybe she could get rid of you after she figured you out. The process would no doubt be nice, though. There was nothing else more romantic and mesmerizing, than getting your heart broken by someone else.

After you turned down her offer, there was a period of wordless stare. Then she asked if you still wanted to go on tour with her. _So it was really a test._

Things between you and Tarja fermented and escalated, as it should be.

You kept a low profile in Tarja’s entourage, and still, you were a pretty good learner. In less than a month you went from a mousy, nameless ghost known to the team, to a mysterious able helper. You memorized Tarja’s schedule from start to finish, so you would have plan B for almost every scenario that would go wrong. Traffic jam? Ask Y/N and you’d get an alternate route. Running out of eyeliner or fake lashes? Ask Y/N and you could get a full set of cosmetics. Lousy interviewer? Ask Y/N to prep them with what Tarja wished to be asked. Condescending promotors? Ask Y/N, and she would not-so-politely remind them, that Tarja could go any place in the world where people would die to see her, instead of being here and putting up with their arrogant bullshit.

Tarja didn’t know all of your efforts. She was busy. You were subtle.

You were always proud to be the opposite of an attention-whore. There was something satisfying about being invisible in a group, while knowing that you were more important than they cared to admit.

But Tarja sure noticed that she couldn’t have toured this smooth without you. She didn’t say a single thank-you. She just extended her time with you.

***

“Y/N! Dressing room. Now.”

“I thought she’s supposed to be on stage in—”

But Tarja’s crew ran off with panic on his face, shouting something about the lighting and other technical issues, which weren’t supposed to exist until now, twenty minutes before Tarja going live. You frowned to yourself as you jogged towards the Finnish singer’s dressing room. You knew Tarja’s rituals pre and post performances; she was supposed to be meditating.

She unlocked the door before your third rap.

“Tar—”

The wind got whipped from your lungs when she grabbed you by your collar and dragged you inside. Your balance was restored by a hand on your neck, pinning you against the wall. Tarja’s rings and nails dug into your throat, but it was less painful when the back of your head banged into the hard surface. Stars danced in your vision as you looked at Tarja. She was like a Norse goddess, her features enhanced with theatrical, gothic makeup. She was killing you with her look, and you were weak in the knees seeing her like this: confident, wintry, passionate.

Tarja closed and bolted the door with her other hand.

“Be quiet.”

She demanded, the harshness cushioned by the urgency. Her warm minty breath assaulted your senses, reducing you into a pool of nerve endings. You felt hot all over. Tarja was a few inches taller; combining her height advantage with her skin-tight leather outfit, she was overpowering every iota of you. Stoic lines were carved on her face with determination, and there was also the thrill. The thrill of going on stage or having you squirming helplessly under her thumb? Perhaps both.

Tarja pushed her thigh against your center. Her expression showed how much she enjoyed the pathetic gasp erupting from you. You were aware of a pulse that was already beating there, stealthy and steady.

Seeing you biting your lower lip, she removed her hand from your neck, and touched your lip. Her gaze told you that you should stop the nervous motion. You obeyed, then your eyes were automatically drawn to the pair of blood-red lips before you. Tarja never allowed you to kiss her. Now it wasn't even possible because she could not ruin her makeup.

“Shush…”

A hushed, pacifying word only brought out the explicitness as she inserted two fingers in your mouth. You wrapped your mouth around her digits, eyes widening with lust, coating her fingers with saliva and massaged them with swirls of the tongue. You could taste the metallic tang from her rings, and you were careful not to cut yourself around her nails. Tarja’s pupils were dilated dark, and with the encouraging arch of her brows, you bobbed your head up and down, enthusiastic and eager to please. Tarja smiled faintly, watching you degrade yourself. Her left hand climbed back to seal your mouth, her right hand leaving to crawl lower, lower and _lower_ still. You shivered, and you knew she could feel that too.

Breathing through your nose, you could smell the vanilla hand cream on Tarja’s hand. It brought a wave of comfort. You closed your eyes when you felt her testing the elastic band of your tights. A shaky exhalation escaped from you, and Tarja's hand was cupping your warmness. The heavenly sensation was almost jeopardized when someone knocked on the door, but Tarja made it up to you as she placed her thumb directly on your hood.

“Tarja! The stage is ready!” Your heart nearly stopped when the doorknob rattled. Tarja chose this time to rub in predictable patterns on your clit. The desire in your belly twisted and spiked through your entire system. Tarja knew exactly what was happening: you were excited by the idea of getting caught. “Hey, you hear me?”

“I heard the first time! Thanks for the heads up!” Tarja yelled, her eyes boring into yours when suddenly she gave you an evil smirk, shouting to the personnel outside, “I’ll be out in five!”

“Sure! Go get ‘em!”

 _Five minutes were all she needed to play._ That thought sent a rush all over you. You tried to gain more pleasure by parting your legs wider, the ache in your pussy multiplying with every beat of your heart. Tarja’s touches were nowhere hard enough to bring you release. You whined for mercy.

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

You managed to channel your wanton by gyrating your hips forward. Tarja’s left hand, still on your mouth, squeezed your face before she slapped you to the right. The blow was only brittle, but the gesture had served its purpose. You were reminded who was in control. The humiliation increased tenfold.

“You like being treated like this, don’t you?”

With your eyes shut, you nodded, cheeks burning. Tarja smiled and rubbed your entrance with a finger. You opened for her. She thrust in and it stung a little. She hummed, noticing the furrowing of your brow.

“You like the fact, that I can fuck you whenever, however I want.”

She husked. You angled your head towards the ceiling when Tarja sped up her movements, rubbing your engorged nub, thrusting her digits in and out of your pussy. You tried to accommodate her movements, and it felt so, so good. You moaned.

“You like the fact that people _could_ see you like this, if I let them.”

The innuendo made you hornier. Tarja’s nails on your tender flesh went from discomfort to titillating.

“Tell me: have you thought about me fucking you like this, but on stage where thousands of people would see?”

Your jaw dropped in a silent scream. Blood pounded in your ears when you grabbed the edge of Tarja’s clothes, a pitiful attempt to gain more stimulations. Tarja’s expression softened at that. With her vacant hand, she grasped your jaw and turned your face aside, exposing the pulse of your neck. Your right cheek was pressed hard to the wall. You could feel yourself coating her fingers now. She took no more than ten minutes to make you this wet. Tarja leaned in and licked the elongation of your flushing skin; you melted under that with a purr.

Then you hissed when she bit down harshly. You thought that was it, but Tarja sucked on that same spot on your neck, making your hips jump to the rhythm of her hand. It felt insanely arousing when she intensified her suckle; you felt as of electricity leaked from her mouth, down your skin, mapping all the way through your body. She was no doubt going to leave a mark. The thought of walking around, letting people know that you were being fucked by Tarja, wound the string within you until you could break. You let out a broken sob.

“You’re mine. Say it.”

She growled next to your ear after her mouth left your skin. You forgot to ask for her permission when you came with a cry of _I’m yours_ striking across the air. Your body’s reaction to her words was shocking. The air faded out when the world tilted on its axes, leaving you curling towards Tarja’s magical hand as the twinges of your lower abdomen exploded, lightening raped the back of your lids as pure bliss flooded over.

Although Tarja allowed you to have a complete orgasm, she was not very happy about you robbing the control of timing. She drew her hand from your pants after you cummed, and left you in your debauched state. You slumped against the wall, collecting your breath. She went directly after the Kleenex.

She still didn’t look at you as she reapplied her lipstick, leaning her face close to the mirror. Her hair was done in big, romantic waves. Her never-ending legs were wrapped in latex, armed with a retro belt, and her back was a transitional area from leather to lace. The straps of her black bra were visible, and it was deliberate to show off her delicate bodily assets. She looked stunning. You found her extremely detached but beautiful.

In the mirror, Tarja’s expression looked funny, as if she couldn’t understand why she decided to ruin her makeup in the course of action, why she chose to claim you as hers, or why she even asked for you in the first place.

Or maybe you were projecting your questions onto her.

A feeling settled deep in you like a bad omen, and it felt dangerous. You lost your interpretations of the current situation to your past. You needed to flee. Realizing that it was all inevitably too late, you unlocked the door.

“Wait.”

 _But isn’t this all that you have wanted?_ Tarja beckoned you over, and wiped away the lipstick she left on your neck. Her face was opaque. As you looked closer, you were afraid of the warmth you found in her eyes. There was a galaxy in those greens.

“Ugh, just tell them you were bitten by mosquito.”

Tarja groused, giving up on your skin when she found the last bit of red wasn’t stain; it formed into a hickey. Her statement brightened up the mood in the room.

“The most attractive mosquito I’ve ever seen.”

You ginned, giving her a lame thumbs-up. Tarja rolled her eyes. The excitement of the coming performance suddenly caught up with you. Tarja was no doubt going to slay it today. She was the best singer you had ever known. After you realized how proud you were about Tarja, the same feeling came back to you.

“Don’t stay for me.” Tarja said as she reached for her Evian. Her movements stiffened, noticing what she just said. Uncapping the bottle, she cleared her throat, “Go on. Goodbye.”

“See ya after the show. You…” Damn it, you were doing an ok job with your feelings, but right now you were not sure anymore. You swallowed the seriousness and joked, “You know where to find me, in case you mess up out there and need someone to finish the job.”

“Now _that’s_ a great confidence builder.”

Tarja drawled. You smiled, finding her eyes twinkling like the beacon to your shore, replacing your fears with her saturated, unique brilliance.

Neither of you stayed for another. She went towards the bustling venue, and you the quiet backstage.

***

You brought your laptop and a new bottle of massage oil. Tarja opened her hotel room’s door in her bathrobe. No makeup, hair still wet.

“Caught you in a bad time?”

“Nope.”

Briskly, she turned around. You followed wordlessly. Tarja smelled fresh of rose and milky berries. She piled away a few items on the table with _thumps_ and _bangs,_ making a spot for your pc. She was in a mood. She sounded cheery, but her movements were sluggish and careless. Well, it was always a good sign that she was laying down her guards.

You were marching towards the end of her tour. With five more shows, you could go back. You saw a lot on the road, like the goddamn modern version of Isabel Archer. It was needleless to say you had seen enough.

“Well, start whenever you’re ready.”

She walked to the side of the bed, threw a glance at her bra and underwear, and flopped herself down with a sigh. You smirked. Tarja was expecting a massage from you after you briefed her, and she was too lazy to put on her undergarments.

“I am more than ok to know you’re wearing nothing under that. But at least blow-dry your hair first.”

Opening the lid of your laptop, you saw from the corner of your eye that Tarja squeezed her eyes shut like a petulant child.

“I don’t wanna.”

“C’mon. Don’t make me go there and tickle you.” Tarja got up slowly, and stayed unmoved as you scrolled, checking the calendar for tomorrow. “So, starting at 8, interview for that indie-rock company; they’ll send a car here so you just go and we’ll take care of the rest of your things. The ideal timing was that they wrap it up before 11, so we could set for the airport. If nothing went wrong, we’ll be landing at 5 in the afternoon and you could even catch some nap before we prepare—”

You were cut off with the loud noise of her blow-dryer. You sent a filthy look at her direction. From the bathroom, she tilted her head innocently.

“You told me to dry my hair!”

She shouted, the grin giving her away. You shook your head and resumed your task. The next day was bombed with cross-country commute and interviews, just another usual day for Tarja. You thought about what all of this would do to normal people’s health and life.

But it was Tarja you were talking about. She was far from normal. She was special. She became so special in your heart. A poignant feeling seized you, replacing the weariness of a traveler. You shut the pc, and rested your chin on your knees.

You had been thinking about what you were going to do without her. Now, more than ever, you thought about how she was going to do without you. You understood at some point about what _don’t stay for me_ meant: you were different, and your lives wouldn’t blossom if you stayed with each other. But Tarja clearly needed you. And you wanted her.

You build an extravagant castle around your hollowness, but Tarja saw through you as if you were a fucking glasshouse. You thought traveling the world would replace the void in you, yet the meaning you sought still resides in the things you lack.

“Hey, you good?”

A warm figure approached, and placed her hands upon your shoulders. You welcomed the heat with a curve of your lips.

“Yeah. No worries.”

You answered airily. You dropped your knees to the carpeted ground, and sat straight up. Tarja toyed with your hair as you lifted the lid of the computer. As you started at where you left, Tarja grabbed her glasses and settled on your lap. You smiled in your words, throwing a hand around Tarja’s slender waist. When you waited for her to double-check the timetable, you stole a look at her direction. It was fascinating how soft and statuesque she looked in moments like this. Her glasses were dorky but paired with the concentration on her face, it was cuteness-overload.

“I swear, if you are going to make fun of my glasses again…”

Tarja muttered, her eyes glued to the screen. The computer light cast a silvery halo on her, and the shadows on her face only brought out the soft rise-and-fall of her features. The valleys under her cheekbones. The ocean in her eyes. The rosebuds of her lips. Tarja became a congregation of repose and beauty.

“Not saying that they are mom-glasses.” Caught, you looked away and you ran your fingers through her sleek, long hair, gathering the black rivulets to one side of her shoulder, “But they add five years on you.”

“I thought you like older women.”

“Ah, that I do.”

She tapped her nails on the table, then told you that the team needed to postpone the meeting with the promotor, because there was an important function he needed to attend. Not missing a beat, you texted everyone about the emergency update. It wasn’t the first time you dropped a bomb in the chat group. Tarja’s entourage knew you two were close, but they didn’t know just _how_ close. You and Tarja never put a label on it anyway.

“How are they taking it?”

“It scared the shit out of them.”

“Anyone speaking ill of me behind my back?”

She jumped off your lap like a leopard, and started to unfasten her robe by the bed. You turned off your computer. The notifications jumping from your phone showed one message after the next.

“No, they are mostly just mad at me not finding it out sooner.”

“Goodie.”

She lay down on her belly. You were just in time to grab the massage oil and leave the phone behind. The mattress dipped as you sat down. Tarja turned her head towards your side and watched you worked with the pump.

“This one’s brand new.”

She observed.

“Yeah, just got it from a local drug store.”

The spout popped victoriously, and you pumped. Then you cursed to yourself when a jet of massage oil nearly spilled out of your hand.

“What happened to the old one?”

“I kinda used it up on someone else.” You rubbed your hands together, and maneuvered towards the side of Tarja’s body, “Vic from liaison. You remember him?”

“Victor the womanizer?”

Tarja sounded amused.

“Wow. Everybody does call him that.”

You found the nape of Tarja’s neck and shoulders, starting to work from there. Boy was she tense.

“Please tell me at least he told you he was married before he fucked you.”

“Jesus.” You choked on a gush of laughter, “We’re buddies. I only charged him dinner for the massage.”

Tarja hummed and remained silent.

“You’re right about that fucking part, though. He did propose to take me back to his room after he bought me dinner. Can I sit on your back?”

“Please do.”

The fact that Tarja didn’t tell you to continue the story confirmed your guess, that she actually cared. So you carried on after you set yourself somewhere on Tarja’s lower back.

“So then I said, I was rather quite infatuated with a lady friend of mine, thanks but no thank you.”

You said jokingly, undoing the tension beneath Tarja’s shoulder blades.

“I guess you really are, huh?” Tarja commented, and you could hear her smile, “You even remembered to pick a massage oil that doesn’t smell like fucking lavender.”

You chuckled soundlessly. Memorizing her preferences had become your habit. Tarja felt really good under your hands. Her skin was unblemished and smooth, buzzing with lethargic energy.

“I considered the other anti-aging one, FYI.”

“I’m flattered.” Tarja huffed, “Your birthday is next month, no?”

“Yeah, then we’ll be one year closer.” You quipped, “You ever been with someone younger before?”

You moved down her spine, pressing your thumb and index finger along the tendon.

“Even if I have, they got nothing on you when you have those _hands_.”

Tarja purred when you hit a particular spot.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, milady.”

You shifted and got down of her upper body. Reaching for the oil bottle, you found Tarja’s gaze on you again, this time more attentive.

“And have you? Been with someone younger, I mean?”

You nibbled your lip while squirts of oil landed in your palms. You rubbed them thoughtfully together. _You are done hiding_ , you decided. You moved on your knees to tend to Tarja’s lower body.

“Not exactly younger, but…” Kneading Tarja’s buttocks with care, you chose your words carefully and sighed, “Don’t we all have that someone in our lives, who knocks us off our own orbits then changes us forever?”

“Sounds quite familiar.” Tarja mused. She widened her legs so when you’re finished with her hips, you could attack her inner thighs, “You mean the times we fall in love?”

“Yeah. Maybe something like that.”

“You sound doubtful.”

Tarja’s observation felt too sharp. Heat rushed into your cheeks. It wasn’t shyness that overwhelmed you; it was shame.

“Truth is, I…” You let out a jagged breath, and your hands stopped moving accordingly. Tarja lifted herself with her elbows and glanced back at you. The halogen lights made the golden hew in her green eyes more apparent. “I don’t think I’d ever fallen in love...no matter how good or bad it felt, or how messy it went.”

Tarja’s face remained a mask. You couldn’t tell if she was offended, disappointed or intrigued. You continued with the back of Tarja’s thigh, unhurried and careful.

“It’s not just confident issues. The problem is with my belief. I don’t think I am capable of…of _love_.” The four-letter-word tasted sour in your mouth. Tarja was still looking at you. You forced smile that went too broad, “Sorry to bore you with this. This is all very, very cliché.”

“And do you believe in love?”

After dropping the question, Tarja shifted away from you with quick, flexible moves. She grabbed her bathrobe to face you. You didn’t venture to look into her eyes. Instead, you changed to a cross-legged position so you could have something to do. Tarja didn’t tie up the robe. The front of her body was loosely covered.

“Sure, the concept of it, of course.”

“So that is what’s wrong with you.” You snapped your gaze upwards, but Tarja’s face was so genuine that you chose to listen to her, “I constantly think why? Why a pretty girl like you, so able and humble and charismatic, can possibly be this blasé.”

“Well now you know.” You should shrug this off, but instead you blinked with a smile (which no doubt was more of a grimace), “The cat’s out of the bag. I have lost my appeal.”

_And there’s no reason for us to do this anymore, isn’t it?_

Tarja read your question on your face. She seemed angry and confused, but to your surprise, the crease between her brow eased with the rest of her features.

“Don’t worry.” Tarja leaned closer after she sat on her heels, her hair cascading and framing her shapely face. You looked down at your lap, because humans weren’t supposed to stare at deities. She touched your cheek. Her hand was gentle and cool. She traced her thumb over your cheekbone, then said, “You’re very appealing to the eyes. Plus, you’re still pretty useful to me.”

An involuntary grin climbed to your mouth. You found your courage to meet her eyes. She was there for you, accepting the truths. _This isn’t about you using each other anymore._ Your vision blurred.

“God, sorry.” You freed yourself from her hand with a few nervous chuckles, “I haven’t cried in like, I dunno, years? This is shocking.”

“You need to take care of your heart sometimes.” Tarja smiled as you rolled down your sleeves then used them to wipe your tears, “People like us, the heart will always be our biggest weakness.”

Maybe you had more in common after all.

You stared at Tarja like you had just found the star in your universe. There was a constellation in her aquamarines. Her eyes were the best deliverer of the majestic brightness, and her being was the warmest entity in your proximity. Your heart fluttered when she inched closer, and closer. You could hear your pulse in your ears.

“I don’t know how to do with my heart.”

You sounded defeated. You close your eyes when everything was too much. You were aware that you hadn’t felt this way for someone in such a long time. In retrospect, you had never allowed yourself to _feel_.

“You follow it, not control it.”

She rasped earnestly. You could feel her breath on your lips now. Tarja waited patiently, watching your lashes flutter and the blush that tinted your face red.

You opened your eyes and surged forward, then you closed them when the cosmos exploded on the tips of your mouth, into different shades of warmth. The colors of epiphany. Tarja was so, so soft. _Velvety_. Her lips were quivering (or was it yours?) as she tilted her head into a better angle. You kissed her deeper after you brushed your burning lips against hers, once, twice, then you dove into paradise. Tarja tasted like red wine and toothpaste, her flavor novel and sweet. You breathed in sync, and you imagined that your hearts must be beating in the same rhythm. Nothing apocalyptic happened with the kiss; it was just you and her, carving a niche of safety with tongues and lips.

“I really care about you, Tarja…” As you broke apart for air, the words stumbled out of your mouth, “I really do. In a way that I had never...foresee. I know it’s too heavy a confession now, but…” You got distracted by seeing the flush on Tarja’s face. The wild, passionate look made her radiant. Her lips were plump and swollen. Her eyes were glassy, and they were solely aimed at you. You doubted if you deserved this kind of attention.

“But I may have fallen for you.”

Tarja’s chest was heaving visibly. You tried to see what was going to take over her expression: a scowl? A frown? A stony one that would say _it’s all a big mistake?_

But she just pursed her lips together, and looked away wistfully with her hands wrung into fists. When she looked back at you, her hands were relaxed, and there was an easy, profound smile dancing on her mouth.

“You really have no idea.” She cocked her head with indulgence, “That this goes both ways, don’t you?”

You gawked at her. There was nothing you could say for yourself. This wasn’t the traditional kind of superstar-falling-in-love-with-assistant, nor the friends-with-benefits-turn-into-lovers stories. This was about you finally facing the void inside you.

“But you—” You stopped yourself from you saying things like _how can you fell in love with a lowly help_ , because it was more complicated than that, “What have you seen in me?”

“That’s for you to answer.” She responded unequivocally, “All I can say is that you can’t stay for me. Don’t stay because you feel you have to.”

You read Tarja well. You could see how emotional she was, when her eyes wide and her lips casting slightly downwards, the lines around her mouth quivering. Her gaze was targeted to your soul. You realized she had too much to lose, and you didn’t want to let her down.

“But I want to.” You gulped, “I want to follow my heart. This time with you. I want to follow you wherever you go.” You grimaced at your word usage. Tarja frowned. You quickly added, “Ok, that came out a bit wrong. I don’t mean I’m gonna stalk you or anything.”

“Well you do know everything about my schedule.”

The tension in the air was lifted, leaving a powerful hum behind that you could still taste in your mouth. Oh, or maybe that was Tarja.

You mentally kicked yourself when you recalled the kiss that just happened. God, you were picking _now_ to feel bashful?

“What?”

Noticing the funny look on your face, Tarja raised her brow.

“I…we…um. Our first kiss. It just happened.”

You were all useless and flustered. Tarja smirked.

“Well, technically, we have kissed a lot before.” She chuckled, “Don’t play coy on me.”

Her tone was tender. You appreciated her patience.

“So, is this the time when we make wild, passionate love?”

She stared at you. And you couldn’t decide you want to slap yourself or stitch up your mouth. _Why the fuck would you say that?_ A burst of wild, uncontrolled laughter rolled out of you, and you couldn’t stop giggling.

“I’m sorry, I have no fucking clue why I said that…”

Tarja only shook her head, barely controlling her grin as she suddenly pushed you backward. Your laughter turned into a shriek when your back bounced on the mattress. Tarja’s smirk had turned into a darker smile as she mounted you. You panted with excitement when you adjusted your legs for her. You could see her robe coming undone in her movements.

“You sure you can take it?”

Tarja asked throatily, not really waiting for an answer as she peeled off her bathrobe, slow and suggestive.

“I can take a lot.”

You propped yourself up. Tarja only threw her robe aside and shoved you back. You gulped at the predatory look in her eyes. She was ready and dangerous. She had a body like an angel, perfect and curvaceous, but her eyes spoke the words of pleasure and sin. You could feel your nipples harden under the wool of your top.

“Then you better prove it.”

Her voice dipped low. You caught the glint in her eyes, a promise that she would take care of you, under _her_ terms. You nibbled the inside of your cheek, watching her rake her hair to the other side. _So gorgeous._ In one smooth motion, Tarja had pinned your hands above your head, leaned down, and kissed you. It was different; kissing Tarja this time was like the second time you lick an ice cream cone—with anticipation, the sweetness struck and it was when you’d know, you could never get enough of the flavor. Something growled in your chest. It sent a thrill that made you hot and cold, wanting more. You reciprocated hotly, showing how badly you wanted to touch her in the kiss. Tarja sensed your frustration. She ended the kiss by dragging your bottom lip with her teeth. The bite was close to a sting, fueling your desire when you realized you could do absolutely nothing, when Tarja was on top of you. She had you in her control. Would she have mercy tonight?

You were going to find that out when she peppered a trail kisses from your chin to the side of your ear. It went from lips to nips, and it felt like a religious experience when she nibbled your earlobe. You didn’t even realize that you were mewling. You were busy melting into a puddle of yearning as her warm breath ghosted your ear. She was so very gentle and playful, switching between grazing and biting over your neck. You arched your body impatiently, warm and tingly. Then it came to you that you could take your top off. You reached for the edge of your sweater. Tarja was momentarily distracted from her task, and when she discovered what you were trying to do, she helped you with a grin. It widened in appreciation when she found that you were not wearing anything beneath.

Then the voyage began.

Tarja started at your collarbone, then her hands joined in. She traced the outline of your breast, caressing you like your skin was made of eggshell. She cupped your softness as your hands found the smooth of her shoulder blades, then down to her taut upper arms; when she gave your breasts squeezes, her thumbs glazed over your nipples. You moaned, enjoying her muscles rolling under your hands. Tarja’s mouth was next. It roused tidal waves in your belly. She savored you as she swirled her tongue over the pebbling spot. You crooned when she sucked; not rough, not soft, just enough.

Tarja did everything in perfect moderation. Her eyes told you she wanted to consume you, and her movements assured you she wanted to make you complete. Tarja advanced, hands still massaging your breasts as her mouth moved downwards, forming a silent map towards your sex. You missed her warmth. You felt vulnerable. You were bare; she had then tugged your trousers off with your underwear. Your wetness was evident, and Tarja regarded it with wonder in her eyes. The dim, orangey lights made her celestial. Turned out Nietzsche was wrong. God wasn’t dead. God was a woman called Tarja Turunen and she was looking at you with affection.

“You were absolutely beautiful, you know that?”

You wanted to cry with laughter when she linked your hands together with those words. It did wonders to your brain and physique. In a weightless moment, you were no longer in your body—you were Tarja’s eyes, and when you see yourself, you were no longer warped and misshapen. You were worthy.

You wanted to believe that. Tarja was determined to prove it to you. She shifted, and ran her hands down your legs, not in a hurry to open you up. She worshipped you with everything she had, from the gaze in her eyes, to the hands that appreciated the skin of your body. She was spelling out a secret language only you would understand, ancient but never outdated. You parted your legs to interpret it.

Tarja moved closer to your wet sex, tattooing your feverish skin with her mouth, unhurried and purposeful. She knew what effect she was bringing upon you. You were possessed with her presence, going further of spellbound; all you could see was her, the beauty with long, jet-black hair. You held her hands firmer. Your breaths turned irregular, creating a symphony with Tarja’s occasional hums and rustles as she moved against the sheet. If you were a song, she would be the best conductor.

Tarja blew a hot stream of air above your clit. You whined and twisted your head sideways, the eagerness killing you and making you feel alive. Tarja unhooked your hands, only to reconnect with you in the most intimate way. Her fingertips first dipped upon your entrance then into her mouth. You watched with your heart in your mouth, and felt as if you were burning. Maybe you were. Tarja’s face didn’t exaggerate her message. You already saw enough in her eyes—her eyes were pitch black with _desire_.

She continued, putting two fingers into her mouth and sucked. The visage was not vulgar. It was a sensual manifestation. You swallowed the thickness accumulating in your mouth. Before you knew what you were doing, your hands flew down to rub your own clit, showing how keen you were. It was already so sensitive. You lost yourself in the sensations and groaned. Tarja didn’t scold you. You checked the expression on Tarja’s face. Half-kneeling, she was waiting for you to look at her. She wanted you to see what she was going to do.

As she slid her fingers in you, her other hand climbed to her own clit. She frowned and moaned with you. You didn’t know if you were more aroused by the sight of Tarja touching herself, or her digits slipping in and out of your pussy. Her expression was blissful, and there was nothing more beautiful than that.

At some point, you couldn’t bear the fact you were not contributing to Tarja’s pleasure. You rose with sinew, and kissed her with fever. Tarja squeaked in your mouth, and you giggled.

“You’re so sexy like this. I just had to…”

You trailed off, acting out your words. Tarja was not surprised when your hand replaced the one on her clit. She only moaned with her upper-lip stiffening with delight.

“Cheeky.”

She said breathily, and gave you a particularly hard thrust. You mouthed an “o” before you glared at her, defiant and wild. You were like a figure eight, the hunger and satisfaction chasing each other and you didn’t know where it began, or how it would end. It built and built after you reciprocated with even more, now three fingers in her pussy while rubbing her clit. Tarja leaned her head against the hollow of your neck, and cried into your skin. She curled her fingers, pressing against that _spot_ within you. You let out a muffled scream as the intense current shocked your system. You were coating each other’s hands. She gathered your wetness and smeared it across your engorged clit. But she was nowhere done with you. Mirroring your moves on her, you thought you were fainting as her digits re-entered you, stretching you, filling you to the hilt. You were finding the edges of yourself, and forming with one another like you were mosaic puzzles.

“Y/N, I’m close…so fucking close…”

“I won’t stop…please don’t stop…”

Some sort of covenant was struck when you were both so close to nirvana. You could see it in Tarja’s eyes; it went thundering forward. She buckle into your hands and cried incoherently. You did the same. You were the tightest chords that were being strummed. Colors robbed you blind, and the only thing you knew, was that you would not stop your hands. Tarja ground and pushed into you. You canted your hips and felt as if her desire had passed onto you. Two bodies, one cycle, sharing pure ecstasy. The currents ricocheted back and forth. You were both the taker and the receiver. You grabbed each other for support, clashing your bodies that vibrated the frequency of heat. Her nails on the small of your back. Your fingers lost in the tousle of her hair. Your leg had made a loose circle around Tarja, like you had confused her with pleasure as you tried to snap yourself shut, so the feeling would be trapped. But she was right she was entitled to be, facing you like she got stuck in your orbit…no. Tarja _chose_ to. She was the meteorite to your earth, and your protective atmosphere was just made of useless layers of air, only in different densities.

Tarja broke your walls. She waited until you say she could come in.

At some point the bones in your bodies turned into mush. All you had was each other’s hold. You were not aware of the AC humming until now. The sweat started to dry off of your overheated skin. Her head still tugged in the nook of your neck, and your chin finding support on the crown of her head. Gathering your breaths from the high, the senses back to your limbs, you maneuvered with her until you could take a break.

Lying down on the mattress, she didn’t ask for space. She curled herself up beside you, not overly-intimate when inches of her skin was pressed against your shoulder, the side of your arm, and somewhere on your hipbone and legs.

You weren’t exactly the cuddly-type, and you didn’t think that she was, too. But you guessed when it came to the two of you, everything was new.

You decided to lose yourself in this newfound calmness. It felt more than after-sex bliss, lacking the fear that you knew everything belonged to the unknown, and you had to keep it that way because you didn’t want chaos. The dread that all truths were overrated, and everyone would project a part of themselves on you when they saw you. For once, for now, you didn’t have to wear yourself out from guessing what to cater to the others. Because Tarja wasn’t “the others”. She was your legacy. She was the meaning that you didn’t think you could create. She was the confirmation that you could be _you_.

“Stop thinking, would you?”

She murmured, a sweet interruption to your inner turmoil. You smiled.

Your phone pulled you back from bliss with flickers of light. You got up and went straight to your phone. Your unclothed back was peppered with lingering gazes from Tarja. But you couldn’t look back. The sight of her would simply be too distracting.

“Is it taken care of? The promotor?”

“It’s A-OK. New update: you needed to catch an earlier flight without us, because he can’t make it even _after_ the function. He could only do tomorrow. We'll take the old flight and we land about the time you finish your meeting with him. ”

“Dick.”

Tarja cursed. She sounded closer. You turned slightly, just in time to know she was also in her naked glory.

“I thought he was a friend.”

“Just like Vic to you.”

She teased, pressing a quick kiss on your shoulder then headed in the other direction. The bathroom.

“No way!” You shouted to no avail. She disappeared into the stall. Then you blushed when you registered that peck on your shoulder, “Tarja, could I also use your shower?”

“Why don’t you join me in here now?” Her muffled invitation echoed with the bathroom door creaking open, “And enlighten me on how good a friend Victor is?”

You shook your head and strode towards the bathroom. You had much to prove to Tarja, about just how _loyal_ you were.

_~FIN~_

**Author's Note:**

> It’s a relief I got this out here just in time (wipes sweaty brows). Thank you for reading this! Kudos, comments, suggestions?  
> Also if you happened to like this, would you like to see more of Tarja/reader, or do you think I should just stick with writing Sharja?  
> Or do you want to see some Sharon/reader (wink


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